And west-end hells, to fortune roseBy many a subtle way.Patron of bull-baits, racings, fights,A chief of black-legg'd low delights—'Tis the new m———s, F-k;Time was, his heavy vulgar gait,With one of highest regal stateTook precedence of rank:But now, a little in disgraceSince J-e usurp'd his m———'s place,A stranger he's at court;Unlike the greatest and the bestWho went before, his feather'd nestIs well enrich'd by sport.F-1-y disastrous, honour's child;L-t-he the giddy, gay, and wild,And sportive little Jack;The prince of dandies join the throng,Where Gwydir spanks his fours along,The silvery grays or black.The charming F-te, and Colonel B-,{39}Snugly in close carriage seeWith crimson coats behind:And Mrs. C—, the Christmas belle,39 We shall not follow the colonel's example, or we couldgive some extracts from the letters of a. femalecorespondent of his that would be both curious andinteresting; butn'importe, consideration for the ladyalone prevents the publication. In town he is alwaysdiscovered by a group of would-be exquisites, the satellitesof the Jupiter of B-k-y C-t-e at Gl-r; or at Ch————-mthey have some name; but here they are more fortunate, foro'er them oblivion throws the friendly veil.
With banker's clerk, a tale must tellTo all who are not blind.Ah! Poodle Byng appears in view,{40}Who gives at whist a point or twoTo dowagers in years.And see where ev'ry body notesThe star of fashion, Romeo Coates{41}The amateur appears:But where! ah! where, say, shall I tellAre the brass cocks and cockle shell?Ill hazard, rouge et noirIf it but speak, can tales relateOf many an equipage's fate,And may of many more.Ye rude canaille, make way, make way,The Countess and the Count————,{42}40 This gentleman is generally designated by the name of"the whist man:" he holds a situation in the secretary ofstate's office, and is in particular favour with all the olddowagers, at whose card parties it is said he is generallyfortunate. He has recently been honoured with the situationof grand chamberlain to their black majesties of theSandwich isles.41 Poor Borneo's brilliancy is somewhat in eclipse, andthough not quite a fallen star, he must not run on black toolong,—lest his diamond-hilted sword should be the price ofhis folly.42 The Countess of ———————-is the daughter ofGovernor J—————-; her mother's name was Patty F-d, thedaughter of an auctioneer who was the predecessor of thepresent Mr. Christie's father. Patty, then a very beautifulwoman, went with him to India, and was a most faithfull andattentive companion.—On the voyage home with J———-——-and her three children, by him, the present countess,and her brothers James and George, they touched at the Cape,where the old governor most ungratefully fell in love with ayoung Portuguese lady, whom he married and brought toEngland in the same ship with his former associate, whom hesoon after completely abandoned, settling 500L. a year uponher for the support of herself and daughter; his two sons,James and George, he provided with writerships in thecompany's service, and sent to India. James died young, andGeorge returned to England in a few years, worth 180,000pounds.—He lingered in a very infirm state of health, theeffects of the climate and Mrs. M-, alias Madame Haut Gout;and at his death, being a bachelor, he left the presentcountess, his sister who lived with him, the whole of hisproperty. There are various tales circulated in thefashionable world relative to the origin and family of thecount, who has certainly been a most fortunate man: he ischiefly indebted for success with the countess to his skillas an amateur on the flute, rather than to his paternalestates. The patron of foreigners, he takes an active partin the affairs of the Opera-house.—Poor Tori having givensome offence in this quarter, was by his influence kept outof an engagement; but it would appear he received someamends, by the following extract from a fashionable paper ofthe day.A certain fashionable———l, who was thought to beaucomble de bonheur, has lately been much tormented with thatgreen-eyed monster, Jealousy, in the shape of an operasinger.Plutôt mourir que changer, was thought to be themotto of the pretty round-faced English——————s; but,alas! like the original, it was written on the sands ofdisappointment, and was scarcely read by the admiringhusband, before his joy was dashed by the prophetic wave,and the inscription erased by a favoured son of Apollo.L'oreille est le chemin du cour: so thought the ———l,and forbade the —————s to hold converse with MonsieurT.; butles femmes peuvent tout, parce-qu'elles gouvernentceux qui gouvernent tous. A meeting took place inGrosvenor-square, and, amid the interchange of doux yeux,the ————-l arrived: a desperate scuffle ensued; theintruder was banished the house, and, as he left the door,is said to have whistled the old French proverb ofLe bontemps viendra. This affair has created no little amusementamong thebeau monde. All the dowagers are fully agreed onone point, thatl'amour est une passion qui vient souventsans qu'on s'en apperçoîve, et, qui s'en va aussi de même.
Who playde pretteeflute,Who charmune petitEnglish ninnie,Till all the Joueur J———'s guineaHimpochée en culotte.Who follows? 'tis the Signor Tori,'Bout whom the gossips tell a story,With some who've gone before:"The bird in yonder cage confinedCan sing of lovers young and kind,"But there, he'll sing no more.
Lord L———looks disconsolate,{}43No news from Spain I think of late,Per favour M————i.Ne'er heed, my lord, you still may findSome opera damsel true and kind,Who'll prove less coy and naughty."Now by the pricking of my thumbs,There's something wicked this way comes,"'Tis A-'s false dame,{44}Who at Almack's, or in the park,With whispers charms a clucal spark,To blight his wreath of fame.Observe, where princely Devonshire,{45}43 His lordship, though not quite so deeply smitten as thenow happy swain, had, we believe, a little __penchant forthe charming little daughter of Terpsichore. "What newsfrom Spain, my lord, this morning?" said Sir C. A. to LordL———"I have no connexion with the foreign office,"replied his lordship.—"I beg pardon, my lord, but I am sureI met a Spanish messenger quitting your house as I enteredit." On the turf, his lordship's four year old (versus five)speculations with Cove B-n have given him a notoriety thatwill, we think, prevent his ruining himself at Newmarket.Like the immortal F-e, he is one of the opera directors, andhas a great inclination for foreign curiosities. Vide thefollowing extract.—"The New Corps de Ballot at the Opera this season, 1823, isentirely composed of Parisian elegantes, selected with greattaste by Lord L————-, whose judgment in these matters isperfectly con amore. In a letter to a noble friend onthis subject, Lord L————says that he has seen, felt, and(ap-) proved them all———to be excellent artistes withvery finished movements."
Certain ridiculous reports have long been current in thefashionable world, relative to a mysterious family affair,which would preclude the noble duke's entering into thestate of matrimony: it is hardly necessary to say they haveno foundation in truth. The duke was certainly born in thesame house and at nearly the same time (in Florence) whenLady E. F-st-r, since Duchess of D-, was delivered of achild—but that offspring is living, and, much to the presentduke's honour, affectionately regarded by him. The duke wasfor some years abroad after coming to his title, owing, itis said, to an unpleasant affair arising out of a whistparty at a great house, which was composed of a Prince,Lords L———and Y———th, another foreign Prince, and aColonel B-, of whom no one has heard much since.—A noblemansion in Piccadilly was there and then assigned to thecolonel, who at the request of the -e, who had long wishedto possess it as a temporary residence, during someintended repairs at the great house, re-conveyed it tothe———. On the receipt of a note from Y- the nextmorning, claiming the amount of the duke's losses, hestarted with surprise at the immense sums, and being nowperfectly recovered from the overpowering effects of thebottle, hastened with all speed to take the opinions of twowell-known sporting peers, whose honour has never beenquestioned, Lords F-y and S-n; they, upon a review of thecircumstances, advised that the money should not be paid,but that all matters in dispute should be referred to athird peer, Earl G-y, who was not a sporting man: to thiseffect a note was written to the applicant, but not beforesome communication had taken place with a very highpersonage; the consequence was that no demand was everafterwards made to the referee. Lord G- C- afterwards re-purchased the great house with the consent of the duke fromthe fortunate holder, as he did not like it to bedismembered from the family. We believe this circumstancehad a most salutary effect in preventing any return of apropensity for play.44 Charley loves good place and wine,And Charley loves good brandy,And Charley's wife is thought divine,By many a Jack a dandy.PARODY ON AN OLD NURSERY RHYME.{45} A CHARACTER OF DEVONSHIRE.
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In action, heart, and mind, a peer,Avoids the public gaze;Graceful, yet simple in attire,You'd take him for a plain esquire;"His acts best speak his praise."That queer, plain, yellow chariot, mark,Which drives so rapid through the park,The servants clothed in gray—That's George, incog.—George who? George-king,{46}Of whom near treason 'tis to sing,In this our sportive lay.Kings like their subjects should have airAnd exercise, without the stareWhich the state show attends;I love to see in public placeThe monarch, who'll his people face,And meet like private friends.So may the crown of this our isleRe ever welcomed with a smile,And, George, that smile be thine!Then when the time,—and come it must,That crowns and sceptres shall be dust,Thou shalt thy race outshine,Shalt live in good men's hearts, and tears,From age to age, while mem'ry rearsThe proud historic shrine.46 FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN."Through Manchester-square took a canter just now,Met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow;This did of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,But got such a look,—oh! 'twas black as the devil.How unlucky!—incog, he was traveling about,And I like a noodle must go find him out!Mem. When next by the old yellow chariot I ride,To remember there is nothing princely inside."Tom Moore,
What rueful-looking knight is that,{47}With sunken eye and silken hat,47 Lord P-r-m, the delicate dandy.Laced up in stays to show his waist,And highly rouged to show his taste,His whiskers meeting 'neath his chin,With gooseberry eye and ghastly grin,With mincing steps, conceited phrase,Such as insipid P- displays:These are the requisites to shineA dandy, exquisite, divine.Ancient Dandies.—A Confession.The Doctor{*}, as we learn, once said,To Mistress Thrale—Howe'er a man be stoutly made,And free from ail,In flesh and bone, and colour thrive,"He's going down at 35."Yet Horace could his vigour musterAnd would not till a later lustre fOne single inch of ground surrenderTo any swain in Cupid's calendar.But one I think a jot too low,And t'other is too high, I know.Yet, what I've found, I'll freely state—The thing may do till.—But that's a job—for then, in truth,One's but a clumsy sort of youth:And maugre looks, some evil tongueWill say the Dandy is not young:—For 'mid the yellow and the sear, {**}Though here and there a leaf be greenNo more the summer of the yearIt is, than when one swallow's seen.* Johnson.t——————————-fuge suspicariCujus octavum trepidavit otasClaudere lustrum.—Od. 4.1. ii.Now tottering on to forty years,My age forbids all jealous fears.** "My May of life is fallen intothe sear and yellow leaf."—Macbeth.
Pinch'd in behind and 'fore?Whose visage, like La Mancha's chief,Seems the pale frontispiece to grief,As if 'twould ne'er laugh more:Whose dress and person both defyThe poet's pen, the painter's eye,'Tisoutre tout nature.His Arab charger swings his tail,Curvets and prances to the galeLike Death's pale horse,—And neighing proudly seems to say,Here Fashion's vot'ries must payHomage of course:Tis P-h-m, whom Mrs. H-g-sAt opera and play-house dodgesSince he gain'd Josephine;Tailors adorn a thousand ways,And (though Time won't) men may make Slays;The dentist, barber, make repairs,New teeth supply, and colour hairs;But art can ne'er return the Spring—And spite of all that she can do,A Beau'sa very wretched thingAt 42!The late Princess Charlotte issued an order, interdictingany one of her household appearing before her with frightfulfringes to their leaden heads. In consequence of this cruelcommand, P-r-m, being one of the lords of the bed-chamber,was compelled to curtail his immense whiskers. A veryfeeling ode appeared upon the occasion, entitled MyWhiskers, dedicated to the princess; it was never printed,but attributed to Thomas Moore. The Kiss, or Lady Francis W-W-'s Frolic, had nearly produced a fatal catastrophe. Howwould poor Lady Anne W-m have borne such a misfortune? orwhat purling stream would have received the divine form ofthe charming Mrs. H-d-s? But alas! he escaped little W-'sball, only to prove man's base ingratitude, for he hassince cut with both these beauties for the interestinglittle Josephine, the protégée of T———y B-t, and thesister of the female Giovanni.
Ye madly vicious, can it be!A mother sunk in infamy,To sell her child is seen.Let Bow-street annals, and Tom B-t,{48}Who paid the mill'ner, tell the rest,It suits not with our page;Just satire while she censures,—feels,—Verse spreads the vice when it revealsThe foulness of the age.'Tis half-past five, and fashion's trainNo longer in Hyde Park remain,Bon ton cries hence, away;The low-bred, vulgar, Sunday throng,Who dine at two, are ranged alongOn both sides of the way;With various views, these honest folkDescant on fashions, quiz and joke,Or mark a shy cock down{49};For many a star in fashion's sphereCan only once a week appearIn public haunts of town,Lest those two ever watchful friends,The step-brothers, whom sheriff sends,John Doe and Richard Roe,A taking pair should deign to borrow,To wit, until All Souls, the morrow,The body of a beau;48 Poor Tom B-t has paid dear for his protection ofthe Josephine: fifteen hundred pounds for millinery intwelve months is a very moderate expenditure for so young alady of fashion. It is, to be sure, rather provoking thatsuch an ape as Lord ———should take command of thefrigate, and sail away in defiance of the chartered party,the moment she was well found and rigged for a cruize. SeeCommon Plea Reports, 182349 The Sunday men, as they are facetiously called in thefashionable world, are not now so numerous as formerly: thefacility of a trip across the Channel enables many a shycock to evade the scrutinizing eye and affectionateattachment of the law.But Sunday sets the pris'ner free,He shows in Park, and laughs with gleeAt creditors and Bum.Then who of any taste can bearThe coarse, low jest and vulgar stareOf all the city scum,Of fat Sir Gobble, Mistress Fig,In buggy, sulky, coach, or gig,With Dobbin in the shay?At ev'ry step some odious face,Of true mechanic cut, will placeThemselves plump in your way.Now onward to the Serpentine,A river straight as any line,Near Kensington, let's walk;Or through her palace gardens stray,Where elegantes of the dayOgle, congee, and talk.Here imperial fashion reigns,Here high bred belles meet courtly swainsBy assignation.Made at Almack's, Argyle, or rout,While Lady Mother walks aboutIn perturbation,Watching her false peer, or to makeA Benedict of some high rake,To miss a titled prize.Here, cameleon-colour'd, seeBeauty in bright variety,Such as a god might prize.Here, too, like the bird of Juno,Fancy's a gaudy group, that you know,Of gaymarchands des modes.Haberdashers, milliners, fopsFrom city desks, or Bond-street shops,And belles from Oxford-road,Crowds here, commingled, pass and gaze,And please themselves a thousand ways;
Some read the naughty rhymesWhich are on ev'ry alcove writ,Immodest, lewd attempt at wit,Disgraceful to the times.Here Scotland's dandy Irish Earl,{50}With Noblet on his arm would whirl,And frolic in this sphere;With mulberry coat, and pink cossacks,The red-hair'd Thane the fair attacks,F-'s ever on the leer;And when alone, to every belleThe am'rous beau love's tale will tell,Intent upon their ruin.Beware, Macduff, the fallen stars!Venus aggrieved will fly to Mars;There's mischief brewing.What mountain of a fair is that,Whose jewels, lace, and Spanish hat,Proclaim her high degree,With a tall, meagre-looking man,Who bears her reticule and fan?That was Maria D-,Now the first favourite at court,50 His lordship is equally celebrated in the wars of Marsand Venus, as a general in the service of Spain. When LordM-d-ff, in the desperate bombardment of Matagorda (an oldfort in the Bay of Cadiz), the falling of a fragment of therock, struck by a shell, broke, his great toe; in thiswounded state he was carried about the alameda in a cherubimchair by two bare-legged gallegos, to receive thecondolations of the grandees, and, we regret to add, theunfeeling jeers of the British, who made no scruple toassert that his lordship had, as usual, "put his foot init." The noble general would no doubt have added anotherleaf to bis laurel under the auspices of the ex-smuggler,late illustrissimo general Ballasteros, had not he suddenlybecome a willing captive to the soul-subduing charms of thebeauteous Antonia of Terrifa, of whose history andmelancholy death we may speak hereafter. On a late occasion,he has been honoured with the star of the Guelphic order(when, for the first time in his life, he went on hisknees), as some amends for his sudden dismissal from thebed-chamber. Noblet, who has long since been placed upon thepension list, has recently retired, and is succeeded by acharming little Parisian actress who lives in the New Road,and plays with the French company now at Tottenham-streettheatre. Lord L————-has also a little interest in thesame concern. His lordship'saffaires des courwithAntonia, Noblet, and M————-, though perfectlyplatonic, have proved more expensive than the mostdetermined votary to female attractions ever endured: forthe gratification of this innocent passion, Marr's{*} mightypines have bit the dust, and friendly purses bled.
And, if we may believe report,She holds the golden keyOf the backstairs, and can commandA potent influence in the land,But K———N best can tell;Tis most clear, no ill betide us,Near the Georgium sidusThis planet likes to dwell.Lovely as light, when morning breaks{51}Above the hills in golden streaks,Observe yon blushing rose,Uxbridge, the theme of ev'ry tongue,The sylph that charms the ag'd and young,Where grace and virtue glows.Gay Lady H-e her lounge may take,{52}Reclining near the Indian lake.,And think she's quite secure;51 The beautiful little countess, the charming goddess ofthe golden locks, was a Miss Campbell, a near relation ofthe Duke of Argyll. She is a most amiable and interestingelegante.52 Although Lord L-e is the constant attendant of Lady H-,report says the attachment is merely platonic. His lordshipwas once smitten with her sister; and having thero sufferedthe most cruel disappointment, consoles himself for his lossin the sympathizing society of Lady H———.* Marr Forest, belonging to his lordship, producing thefinest mast pines in the empire; the noble earl has latelycut many scores of them ami some old friends, rather thanbalk his fancy.
As well might C-1-ft hope to passUpon the town his C——-r lassFor genuine and pure.See Warwick's charming countess glide,{53}With constant Harry by her side,Along the gayparterre;And look where the loud laugh proclaimsThe cits and their cameleon dames,The gaudy Cheapside fair,Drest in all colours o' the shop,Fashion'd for the Easter hop,To grace the civic feast,Where the great Lord Mayor presidesO'er tallow, ribands, rags, and hides,The sultan o' the east.The would-be poet, Ch-s L-h,{54}Comes saunt'ring with his graces three,The little gay coquettes.After, view the Cyprian corpsOf well-known traders, many score,From Bang to Angel M-tz,A heedless, giddy, laughing crew,Who'd seem as if they never knewOf want or fell despair;Yet if unveil'd the heart might be,You'd find the demon, Misery,Had ta'en possession there.Think not that satire will excuse,Ye frail, though fair; or that the museWill silent pass ye by:To you a chapter she'll devote,Where all of fashionable note53 Lady Sarah Saville, afterwards Lady Monson, now Countessof Warwick, a most beautiful, amiable, and accomplishedwoman. By constant "Harry" is meant her present earl.54 See Amatory Poems by Ch-os L-h. We could indulge ourreaders with a curious account of the demolition of thePaphian car at Covent Garden theatre, but the story issomewhat musty.
Shall find their history."Vice to be hated, needs but be seen;"And thus shall ev'ry Paphian queenBe held to public view;And though protected by a throne,The gallant and his Miss be shownIn colours just and true.The countess of ten thousand see,{55}The dear delightful Savante B-,Who once was sold and bought:The magic-lantern well displaysThe scenes of long forgotten days,And gives new birth to thought.Nay, start not, here we'll not relateThe break-neck story gossips prateWithin the Em'rald Isle:No spirit gray, or black, or brown,We'll conjure up, with hideous frown,To chase the dimpled smile.In fleeting numbers, as we pass,We find these shadows in our glass,We move, and they're no more.But see where chief of folly's train,55 The beautiful and accomplished countess is a lovelydaughter of Hibernia; her maiden name was P-r, and herfather an Irish magistrate of high respectability. Her firstmatrimonial alliance with Captain F-r proved unfortunate; anearly separation was the consequence, which was effectedthrough the intervention of a kind friend, Captain J-s ofthe 11th. Shortly afterwards her fine person and superiorendowments of mind made an impression upon the earl thatnothing but the entire possession of the lady could allay.The affair of Lord A- and Mrs. B- is too well known to needrepetition—it could not succeed a second time. Abelard F-having paid the debt of nature, there was no impediment buta visit to the temple of Hymen, on which point the lady wasdetermined; and the yielding suitor, wounded to the vitalpart, most readily complied. It is due to the countess toadmit, that since her present elevation, her conduct hasbeen exemplary and highly praiseworthy.
Conceited, simple, rash, and vain,Comes lib'ral master G-e,{56}A dandy, half-fledged exquisite,Who paid nine thousand pounds a nightTo female Giovanni.Reader, I think I hear you say,"What pleasure had he for his pay?"Upon my word, not any;For soon as V-t-s got the cash,She set off with a splendid dashFrom Op'ra to Paris;Left Cl-t and this simple fool,{67}Who no doubt's been an easy tool,To spend it with Charles H-s.See, Carolina comes in view,A Lamb, from merry Melbourne's ewe,Who scaped the fatal knife.H-ll-d's blue stocking rib appears,Who makes amends in latter yearsFor early cause of strife.Catullus George, the red-hair'd bard,Whose rhymes, pedantic, crude, and hard,He calls translations,Follows the fair; a nibbling mouseFrom Westminster, by Cam HobhouseExpell'd his station.Now twilight, with his veil of gray,The stars of fashion frights awayThe carriage homeward rolls alongTo music-party, cards and song,56 A very singular adventure, which occurred in 1823. Theenamoured swain, after settling an annuity of seven hundredpounds per annum upon the fair inconstant, had themortification to find himself abandoned on the very nightthe deeds were completed, the lady having made a precipitateretreat, with a more favoured lover, to Paris. The affairsoon became known, and some friends interfered, when thedeeds were cancelled.57 Captain citizen Cl-t, an exquisite of the first order,for a long time the favourite of the reigning sultana.
And many a gay delight.The Goths of Essex-street may groan,{58}Turn up their eyes, and inward moan,They dare not here intrude;Dare not attack the rich and great,The titled vicious of the state,The dissolute and lewd.Vice only is, in some folks' eyes,Immoral, when in rags she lies,By poverty subdued;But deck her forth in gaudy vest,With courtly state and titled crest,She's every thing that's good."Doth Kalpho break the Sabbath-day?Why, Kalpho hath no funds to pay;How dare he trespass then?How dare he eat, or drink, or sleep,Or shave, or wash, or laugh, or weep,Or look like other men?"My lord his concerts gives, 'tis true,The Speaker holds his levee too,And Fashion cards and dices;But these are trifles to the sinOf selling apples, joints, or gin—58 The present times have very properly been stigmatized asthe age of cant. The increase of the puritans, thesmooth-faced evangelical, and the lank-haired sectarian,with their pious love-meetings and bible associations, haveat last roused the slumbering spirit of the constitutedauthorities, who are now making the most vigorous efforts toimpede the progress of these anti-national and hypocriticalfanatics, who, mistaking the true dictates of religion andbenevolence, have, in their inflamed zeal, endeavoured toextirpate every species of innocent recreation, and havelaid formidable siege to honest-hearted mirth and rusticrevelry. "I am no prophet, nor the son of one; "but ifever the noble institutions of my country suffer anyrevolutionary change, it is my humble opinion it will resultfrom these sainted associations, from these pious opposersof our national characteristics, and the noblest institutionof our country, the foundation stone of our honour andglory, the established church of England. There is (in myopinion) more mischief to be apprehended to the state fromthe humbug of piety than from all the violence of froth,political demagogues, or the open-mouthed howl of the mosthungry radicals. Let it be understood I speak not againsttoleration in its most extended sense, but war only withhypocrisy and fanaticism, with those of whom Juvenal haswritten—"Qui aurios simulant el baechemalia vivinit."
Low, execrable vices.Cease, persecutors, mock reclaimers,Ye jaundiced few, ye legal maimersOf the lone, poor, and meek;Ye moral fishers for stray gudgeons,Ye sainted host of old curmudgeons,Who ne'er the wealthy seek!If moralists ye would appear,Attack vice in its highest sphere,The cause of all the strife;The spring and source from whence does flowPollution o'er the plains below,Through all degrees of life.
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The Man of Fashion—Fop's Alley—Modern roué andFrequenters—Characteristic Sketches in High Life—BlueStocking Illuminati—Motives and Mariners—Meeting with theHonourable Lillyman Lionise—Dinner at Long's—Visit to theOpera—Joined by Bob Transit—A Peep into the Green Room—Secrets behind the Curtain—Noble Amateurs and ForeignCuriosities—Notes and Anecdotes by Horatio Heartly.
The Opera, to the man of fashion, is the only tolerable place of public amusement in which the varied orders of society are permitted to participate. Here, lolling at his ease, in a snug box on the first circle, in dignified security from the vulgar gaze, he surveys the congregated mass who fill the arena of the house, deigns occasionally a condescending nod of recognition to some less fortunateroué, or younger brother of a titled family, who is forcing his way through the well-united phalanx of vulgar faces that guard the entrance toFop's Alley; or, if he should be in a state of single blessedness, inclines his head a little forward to cast round an inquiring glance, a sort of preliminary overture, to some fascinating daughter of fashion, whose attention he wishes to engage for an amorous interchange of significant looks and melting expressions during the last act of the opera. For the first, he would not be thought sooutréas to witness it—the attempt would require a sacrifice of the dessert and Madeira, and completely revolutionizethe regularity of his dinner arrangement. The divertissement he surveys from the side wings of the stage, to which privilege he is entitled as an annual subscriber; trifles a little badinage with some well-known operatic intriguant, or favourite danseusej approves the finished movements of the male artistes, inquires of the manager or committee the forthcoming novelties, strolls into the green room to make his selection of a well-turned ankle or a graceful shape, and, having made an appointment for some non play night, makes one of the distinguished group of operatic cognoscenti who form the circle of taste in the centre of the stage on the fall of the curtain.
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This is one, and, perhaps, the most conspicuous portrait of an opera frequenter; but there are a variety of characters in the same school all equally worthy of a descriptive notice, and each differing in contour and force of chiaroscuro as much as the one thousand and one family maps which annually cover the walls of the Royal Academy, to the exclusion of meritorious performances in a more elevated branch of art. The Dowager Duchess of A——— retains her box to dispose of her unmarried daughters, and enjoy the gratification of meeting in public the once flattering groups of noble expectants who formerly paid their ready homage to her charms and courted her approving smile; but then her ducal spouse was high in favour, and in office, and now these "summer flies o' the court" are equally steady in their devotion to his successor, and can scarcely find memory or opportunity to recognise the relict of their late ministerial patron. Lord E——— and the Marchioness of R.——— subscribe for a box between them, enjoying the proprietorship in alternate weeks. During the Marchesa's periods of occupation you will perceive Lady H., and the whole of the blue stocking illuminati, irradiating from this point, like the tributary stars round some major planet, forminga grand constellation of attraction. Here new novels, juvenile poets, and romantic tourists receive their fiat, and here too the characters of one half the fashionable world undergo the fiery ordeal of scrutinization, and are censured or applauded more in accordance with the prevailing on dits of the day, or the fabrications of the club, than with any regard to feeling, truth, or decorum. The following week-, how changed the scene!—the venerable head of the highly-respected Lord E——— graces the corner, like a Corinthian capital finely chiseled by the divine hand of Praxiteles; the busy tongue of scandal is dormant for a term, and in her place the Solons of the land, in solemn thoughtfulness, attend the sage injunctions of their learned chief. Too enfeebled by age and previous exertion to undergo the fatigues of parliamentary duty, the baron here receives the visits of his former colleagues, and snatching half an hour from his favourite recreation, gives a decided turn to the politics of a party by the cogency of his reasoning and the brilliancy of his arguments. The Earl of F———has a grand box on the ground tier, for the double purpose of admiring the chaste evolutions of the sylphic daughters of Terpsichore, and of being observed himself by all the followers of the cameleon-like, capricious goddess, Fashion.
The G———B——-, the wealthy commoner, Fortune's favoured child, retains a box in the best situation, if not on purpose, yet in fact, to annoy all those within hearing, by the noisy humour of his Bacchanalian friends, who reel in at the end of the first act of the opera, full primed with the choicest treasures of his well stocked bins, to quiz the young and modest, insult the aged and respectable, and annihilate the anticipated pleasures of the scientific and devotees of harmony, by the coarseness of their attempts at wit, the overpowering clamour of their conversation, andthe loud laugh and vain pretence to taste and critic skill.
The ministerialists may be easily traced by their affectation of consequence, and a certain air of authority joined to a demi-official royal livery, which always distinguishes the corps politique, and is equally shared by their highly plumed female partners. The opposition are equally discernible by outward and visible signs, such as an assumed nonchalance, or apparent independence of carriage, that but ill suits the ambitious views of the wearer, and sits as uneasily upon them as their measures would do upon the shoulders of the nation. Added to which, you will never see them alone; never view them enjoying the passing scene, happy in the society of their accomplished wives and daughters, but always, like restless and perturbed spirits, congregating together in conclave, upon some new measure wherewith to sow division in the nation, and shake the council of the state. And yet to both these parties a box at the opera is as indispensable as to the finished courtezan, who here spreads her seductive lures to catch the eye, and inveigle the heart of the inexperienced and unwary.
But what has all this to do with the opera? or where will this romantic correspondent of mine terminate his satirical sketch? I think I hear you exclaim. A great deal more, Mr. Collegian, than your philosophy can imagine: you know, I am nothing if not characteristic; and this, I assure you, is a true portrait of the place and its frequenters. I dare say, you would have expected my young imagination to have been encompassed with delight, amid the mirth-inspiring compositions of Corelli, Mozart, or Rossini, warbled forth by that enchanting siren, De Begnis, the scientific Pasta, the modest Caradori, or the astonishing Catalani:—Heaven enlighten your unsuspicious mind! Attention to the merits of theperformance is the last thing any fashionable of the present day would think of devoting his time to. No, no, my dear Bernard, the opera is a sort of high 'Change, where the court circle and people of ton meet to speculate in various ways, and often drive as hard a bargain for some purpose of interest or aggrandisement, as the plebeian host of all nations, who form the busy group in the grand civic temple of commerce on Cornbill. You know, I have (as the phrase is), just come out, and of course am led about like a university lion, by the more experienced votaries of ton. An accident threw the honourable Lillyman Lionise into my way the other morning; it was the first time we had met since we were at Eton: he was sauntering away the tedious hour in the Arcade, in search of a specific for ennui, was pleased to compliment me on possessing the universal panacea, linked arms immediately, complained of being devilishly cut over night, proposed an adjournment to Long's—a light dinner—maintenon cutlets—some of the Queensberry hock{1} (a century and a half old)—ice-punch-six whin's from an odoriferous hookah—one cup of renovating fluid (impregnated with the Parisian aromatic {2}); and then, having reembellished our persons, sported{3} a figure at the opera. In the grand entrance, we enlisted Bob Transit, between whom and the honourable, I congratulated myself on being in a fair way to be enlightened. Bob knows every body—the exquisite was not so general in his information; but then he occasionally furnished some little anecdote of the surrounding elegantes, relative to affairs de l'amour, or pointed out the superlative of the haut class, without which much of the interesting would have escaped my notice.